


Honey Sweethearts

by seaweedredandbrown



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, This might be the schmoopiest thing I'll ever write, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and I am not even sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaweedredandbrown/pseuds/seaweedredandbrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newton sells honey at the Shatterdome market, and he’s definitely *not* in love with the guy who mans the stall next to his. <br/>Sometimes, all you really need is a very nosy ex-wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey Sweethearts

The Shatterdome Market was not a sight to behold and that’s exactly what Newton loved about it.  
It was small, local, and a bit bizarre - over the years it had evolved from “yet another farmers’ market” to “organic food, handmade craft, and whatever ye-olde-timey-feel-good-stuff people were all about these days”.

Most stalls were simply weird; mismatches of pride bracelets and essential oils, discarded motor parts and foreign pastries. The merchants were even weirder. Newton felt right at home.  
Of course the mighty Gojira spreading his claws over his arms among peonies and daffodils still got him some interrogating look, but people just loved his honey, and free samples always went a long way.

So yes, Newton liked it there. He couldn’t get enough of the delicious produce he’d trade for bee wax, and the genuine camaraderie that got him on first-name basis with everyone was a welcome reprieve from the widespread hypocrisy that plagued the rest of the world.  
Yet what drove him back, week after week, what truly drove him back was the smells that came in delicious breezes from his neighbour’s stall. Lavender and thyme, vanilla and vetiver, all merged in the October chill or the August heat - those where the reason why.

Yes. The smells.  
From the neighbour’s stall.  
Not the neighbour himself, obviously.

The man’s name was Hermann.  
Hermann made soaps.  
That didn’t sound very exciting, true, and Newton would never have believed that anyone could make soaps sound interesting but Hermann did. 

To tell the truth, Hermann made a lot of things interesting.  
He was smart, well-read, and absolutely bizarre.  
He wore clothes that Newton’s grandfather would have tried to get rid of, sported the lamest haircut Newton had ever seen and had only two known moods - “stiff and distant” or “stiff and grumpy”.  
Yet it _worked_.  
Because if Hermann was weird it was in that good kind of weirdness, the one that made you go, “which planet do you come from man, because I want to move there”.

Hermann quoted Descartes and Turing in discussions that had absolutely nothing to do with cypher or modern subjectivity.  
Hermann complained, all the time, about bee wax dripping over his side of the stall (when had they started to share tables? Newton couldn’t remember) or Newton’s eclectic musical tastes.  
Hermann saluted, yes, _saluted_ whenever Mayor Pentecost was passing by.

And the banter, oh, Hermann was the king of banter, its ultimate emperor.  
There was nothing Newton could do, say, or wear that wouldn’t earn him a scorching remark, and Newt did his best to respond in kind. They sassed each other all afternoon long, they swore they’d never set up their stalls together ever again but always found themselves sharing that same spot, rinse, wash, repeat, every week, all over again.

It was great. Newton loved it.

OK, maybe Newton loved _him_.  
Liked him.  
Fancied him.  
A little bit.

Yeah, fancied him. Newton fancied Hermann, with his cheekbones and his queer little lopsided smile.

He even told himself to do something about it, but while his gaydar was usually his most trusted ally, Hermann was a mystery. He was guarded, secretive and extremely good at deflecting personal questions.  
If their constant arguments had taught Newton anything about the man - such as his opinions on the superiority of tea over coffee or the sheer ridiculousness of modern T.V. programs - he still had no idea whether he had someone, would be interested in having anyone, or would be ok with that anyone being a dude let alone that being _Newton_.

Many would have been deterred by such a predicament but that wasn’t Newton, who knew that fortune favoured the brave - or the bold, shut up Hermann, nobody cares about translation accuracy in popular Latin quotes - and thus gave it his best shot.

His “best shot” involved flirting outrageously, wearing his tightest denims, and dropping hints about his exes with the subtlety of an aircraft bomber.  
That didn’t work, obviously, but it was fun as hell. 

He wanted to see how far he’d get before being rejected, or at least that’s what he told himself. 

He could always enjoy the process, right? 

The little breaks they shared on the low walls behind their stall; Hermann smoking an endless trail of cigarettes, Newton drinking lukewarm beers from his malfunctioning cooler.  
The way Hermann smiled when he arrived in the early morning, the way he shook his hand before leaving in the afternoon.  
Their little routine, their friendship, fuelled by the silent understanding that came between two brave souls that had given up an assured, safe way to monetary success in favour of following their childhood passions.

This was nice. This was comfortable. He could settle for this.  
Of course it was a bit depressing, sometimes, but keeping bees did keep a man busy - ahah - so Newton kept calm and carried on.

He carried on (and could have done so forever) until, one week, he overheard a certain conversation.

He was rummaging at the back of his van, looking for another box of cinnamon-scented candles he was sure was somewhere in that mess, when a voice rose from behind Hermann’s side of the stall. It was definitely not Hermann’s - it was a lady’s and it was absolutely elated.

“But that’s just wonderful news, Hermann. That’s properly amazing, really.”  
“Softer, Vanessa. People will hear us.” Ah that one was Herms’, alright. Nobody else could make a whisper sound so much like a thunderous yell.  
Now, Vanessa, Vanessa… Nah, that didn’t ring any bells. Better stay in the van for another minute or two, just to look for that box as silently as possible.

“And what would be the harm in that? I want to share your happiness with the world! Hermann, I just can’t believe you hid him from me for so long.”  
If this had had Newton’s interest, now it had his full attention. The woman carried on.  
“I mean, I didn’t know you had a thing for tattoos. And I thought you hated bees. Yet here you are, with a tattooed, bee-keeping boyfriend. Now, you can’t expect me not to…”

Newton didn’t hear the rest of that sentence nor Hermann’s answer, because he felt the sudden and impending urge to put some cinnamon-scented candles back on the shelves.  
He did not want to hear about Hermann having a boyfriend  
He did not want to hear about Hermann having a tattooed, bee-keeping boyfriend.  
He did not want to hear about Hermann having a tattooed, bee-keeping boyfriend _who wasn’t him_.

Because Newt knew all the beekeepers in the area, and he was pretty sure he was the only inked one. He was also certainly not Herman’s boyfriend.  
Well, technically, whoever the lucky bastard was did not matter that much. He could have been the nicest guy in the world and, frankly, that’s all Newton wished for Hermann but- but- but it wasn’t him and he would have, yeah, he would have liked to be that guy.  
Damn. 

Newton was feeling pretty pissed. Jealous. Disappointed.  
At last, after so many months of friendly banter, rolled-up sleeves, and flashy smiles - rejected. Discarded. Probably not even _considered_.

… That was just some dust in his eyes, ma’am. His eyes were red because he hadn’t slept well. The heat! Yeah, it’s so warm for the season. Yeah, sure. Have a nice day, see you next week.  
Yeah.  
At this rate, he wasn’t even sure he’d be there the next week.

Ugh, no, shake out of it, Newt. You can’t throw a valuable business opportunity because the object of your little crush, which you totally knew to be unrequited from the start, is having lots of gay love with a guy who could totally be you but isn’t you at all.  
Maybe that’s why he’d asked so many questions about bees and hives and shit last time. Researching up, trying to impress his date. Damn.  
Did the guy make good honey? Did he know that Hermann’s favourite was rosemary? Had he seen Hermann savour royal jelly, had he reached to the corner of his lips to pick a crumble of pollen?

Damn Newt, this thinking isn’t going to get you anywhere and you know it.  
Get a hold of yourself dude.

Making small talk with customers, wrapping their purchases, giving their change back, wishing them a good week; Newton lost himself in these ordinary, familiar gestures, and set out to survive the lousiest afternoon he’d had in years.

He almost, almost made it. 

She appeared when the market was trying to wind down, a bit after Hermann had asked him to mind his stuff for a minute or two.  
She was the most gorgeous woman Newton ever remembered seeing. Dark skin, curly hair and a smile bright enough to make saints reconsider their life choices; that this bright smile was directed at him was flattering and all, but -

“So, that’s you.” Wait, wasn’t that…. “This is the part,” added the woman, “where I tell you that if you ever intentionally hurt him, I will end you. So be good to him, okay?”  
She spoke with such good-hearted cheerfulness, and the whole situation was just so bizarre, that Newton could only manage a hesitant “uh… okay?” while his brain frenetically scrambled for an answer that remotely sounded like ‘Are you Vanessa? I was not eavesdropping, I just happened to hear, and I am, in fact, not Hermann’s boyfriend’, but she was already gone by then.

What the hell.  
What the _actual_ hell.  
OK so that had to be the Vanessa from earlier _and_ the weirdest interaction he’d ever had, in a market he liked for its weirdness. She had mistaken him for the infamous boyfriend, which was cute and all but completely unrealistic. A man like Hermann, with a joke of a dude like him? Nah. Just nah. 

Ah, and now she was talking with Hermann, but Newt couldn’t make out what they were saying. She was pointing towards the stand and laughing and, yeah, now that was a sight almost worth getting his heart broken for.  
Hermann was blushing, from his chin to the tips of his ears, he was absolutely blushing and that was adorable. Then he stomped his cane in anger, which was less adorable, and sent her away with the most scornful look that ever scorn’d, and _that_ was oddly satisfying.

She was still laughing, he could hear her, but Hermann was coming his way now, clenched jaw and eyes fixed on him; shit was about to go down.  
Newton did not even try to pretend not to have seen anything. Things were going to be super awkward from now on, he knew it; so before dealing with whatever storm was a-coming, he’d rather take one last good look at those cheekbones he adored, those brown eyes that were so plain and yet did so many things to him and the promise of pale skin and toned muscles under all that formless, ill-fitting tweed.

Here they were, now. Face to face.  
Newton braced himself.

“Newton.” Oh boy, that was Hermann’s serious voice. “It appears you’ve met Vanessa. I’d like to apologise for her behaviour. She did not mean to upset you.”  
No _kidding_.

“Yeah, that was a bit… unexpected. So, got yourself a… shiny, awesome, bee-keeping boyfriend, eh? Do I know him?”  
Yes, because he was a sucker for punishment. He enjoyed ripping his heart out of his ribcage and crushing it to the ground.

Hermann sighed, the way he did when Newt was being exceptionally annoying.  
Yeah.  
Even he could see how pathetic Newton was; he could not _not_ know about his little crush on him, and now they were going to have to talk about it and he was going to be properly rejected and it already hurt it hurt it-  
“I am aware of how childish it was, “ yeah dude seriously please don’t- “but she tends to worry, and you know how ex-wives are…” W-w-what? “… or maybe you don’t, my point being, I apologise. By no means did I intend to distress you. I imagine I will set up my stall somewhere else next week.”

What, again.  
Just: what.

“Dude, I’m used to you being fucking cryptic, but holy shit, this one takes the cake. The fuck you going on about?”  
Interestingly enough, that did not appear to be the response Hermann hoped for, if his frown was anything to go by.

“Oh, why do you have to pretend to be so dense, is that some new way to mock m-”  
“Dense? Dense? Why I’m sorry, if you parading the tale of your new wunderbar boyfriend isn’t-”

“You don’t know.”  
There was a crack in Hermann’s voice, surprise and a hint of sadness, and that scared Newton much more than his anger. His own unease was suddenly petty and forgettable.

“What, dude? What do I not know?”  
Could it be - nah, this stuff only happened in movies - what the actual hell, seriously - fuck you, Vanessa, you really overdid it - what - just what -

Hermann took a deep breath and spoke again, slightly faster than usual as if to get rid of the words as quickly as possible.  
“A few weeks ago, I told Vanessa - my ex-wife, yes, please have the mercy of not looking so surprised - that we, ah, that we were courting, yes. You and me. It was a terrible, terrible idea, I realise it now. I had no idea she’d come to you, I merely wished for her to stop harassing me on such matters, and you were the first person who came to mind.” At that point, Newton made a conscious, deliberate decision to lift his jaw from the ground. “I am very sorry, it was ridiculous, and I’d understand were you to wish never to speak with me again.”

Oh wow, oh wow, oh - Newton bit his smile back into his lips.  
Oh that little fucker.  
Oh Vanessa you brilliant, amazing woman.  
Oh that emotional roller coaster.

“Yeah,” he managed, “we gotta do something about that, dude.”  
Keeping a straight face had never been so hard. 

“Indeed. I am, once again, very sorry.”  
Ugh, the look on Hermann’s face had just pulled some really deep heart strings.  
Time to wrap this one up before his chest exploded.

“Yeah lying is like, a big no-no man. So uh, tomorrow night?”  
That definitely wasn’t hope in the high-pitched squeak of his voice.

“I beg your pardon?”  
Checkmate dude, who’s the dense one now?

“Our date. We can’t have you going around lying to people, so we gotta start… courting, man. So; tomorrow night? Would that work for you?”

That was it, the moment of truth and yes, oh my god yes, Hermann’s face relaxed, his lips parted, he was smiling, this was the best day of Newton’s life. He reached out a hand and Hermann took it and he swore they looked like teenagers, like lovestruck weirdoes, but -

“… Yes, if you please. Tomorrow night would be lovely.”  
\- weirdness was something that Newton fully embraced.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Feel free to let me know in the comments.  
> Special thanks to [Yumi](http://johnnyfuckingappleseed.tumblr.com/) for their swift and thorough beta-reading - all remaining typos and dullness are mine only.  
> I should also acknowledge that [Tanouska](http://tanouska.tumblr.com/) is the best spell-checker that ever spell-checked, thanks! :3 
> 
> Have a nice day, everyone :D


End file.
